


iced tea

by AlasPoorAndy



Series: i occasionally take requests from tumblr [1]
Category: Bandom, The Who
Genre: M/M, Party, Stripping, Tumblr Prompt, drunk, request, striptease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-10 08:47:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6949255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlasPoorAndy/pseuds/AlasPoorAndy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>short drabble based on a tumblr request sent to me about roger being a stripper and pete being very, very into it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	iced tea

“So, apparently no one told Roger that a long island iced tea has a ton of booze in it. He thought it was just a regular old iced tea.” John whispered to Pete. “He’s had four.”

They stood back in total awe, watching as their goody-two-shoes, my-body-is-a-temple frontman of their band was dancing on a counter in the middle of the whole party, on a brand new level of drunk. Of course, the counter had to belong to a very high profile music mogul who they were trying to impress up to this point—now it was a lost cause. It was like watching a beautiful car wreck in slow motion. The professional look of their band was out the window at this point, and for once Pete prayed for Keith to toss a few cherry bombs to actually improve the whole situation. The beauty of it all came from Roger himself, all golden curls, a few buttons undone, and hips swaying. The reputation of their band was hanging on by a bare thread, saved only because everyone thought Roger was gorgeous. If Pete were to try that shit, however, he’d be kicked out of the damn party by now.

Some girl started egging him on to take off his shirt, and a few other spectators encouraged him. Another person turned up the music so he could dance to the rhythm. Roger, always the crowd pleaser, obliged. His expression was totally blissed out as he reached up to continue unbuttoning his shirt, basking in the cheers from his equally drunken audience.

It was a treat to see Roger do anything remotely sexual considering he was always trying hard to be a good boy. Pete’s first instinct was the ripple of a thrill from watching something so goddamn sexy. Unfortunately, he was still sober enough to feel the need to be responsible. When Roger started reaching for his belt buckle, Pete abandoned his post with John and elbowed his way through the growing crowd to the island counter. 

“Alright, alright, come on down Roger, that’s well enough,” Pete grinned apologetically and offered a hand to help Roger. 

Roger obeyed easily enough, grabbing Pete’s hand, sitting down and then sliding off surprisingly elegantly for someone who was that drunk. The crowd protested, of course, angry at Pete for ruining the best entertainment at the party. 

“We have to go home, sorry folks,” Pete mostly lied to them, and he started ushering Roger out of the kitchen. Roger went along willingly, but suddenly tugged at Pete down the hallway.

“Rog, what are you—“ Pete was taken aback, but Roger seemed determined. He opened a bedroom door and pushed Pete in, turning on the light and locking the door behind him. 

Focus, Pete. Don’t let anything weird happen. Okay, Roger is pushing him down on the bed. It’s probably in a friendly way. Pete crawled back against the pillows, crossing his legs, trying to look unassuming as Roger stood at the foot of the bed.

“If you wanted a private show, you should have just asked,” Roger slurred, giving his level of intoxication away.

Pete swallowed quickly. Of fucking course he wanted it. “Rog, you’re drunk.”

“And you’re jealous,” Roger smiled, combing those long curls away from his face. “You’re jealous that I was performing for someone other than you.”

Pete tried very hard not to say anything.

“It’s a good thing, you know,” Roger murmured. The bassline of the music playing outside was thumping even in their room, giving Roger the rhythm he needed to continue his show. “I like when you get jealous. You get so possessive.”

Pete’s mouth had fallen open as he watched Roger slowly slip off his shirt, rewarding him with the view of his perfectly sculptured chest and stomach. Roger traced his hands over the ripple of his own muscles under that smooth, tan skin, and Pete’s mouth watered. He wanted to reach out and touch that skin himself, feeling the warmth under his fingertips, touching the hard muscle. How delightful it would be to feel that tan skin brush against his own, or feel the weight of Roger’s firm stature on top of him.

Pete felt the front of his jeans strain, and instinctively he wanted to cover himself up in shame. But that was the point of a striptease, was it not? Pete summed up enough boldness to sit with his legs splayed, his own arousal displayed, inviting.

Roger watched him with lust-hooded eyes, and swayed his narrow hips in time to the beat of the music. Pete chewed on a hangnail nervously. Roger’s jeans couldn’t possibly be any tighter. His hipbones poked out over the waistband, his skin pulled tight and firm. Below that, a generous outline of Roger’s own member swelling large enough that it made Pete absolutely weak with want.

Pete cleared his throat, his voice deepened significantly with his own arousal. “More.”

Roger’s mouth pulled into a lazy, drunken smile. He swiftly worked open the button on his jeans and pulled down the zipper, giving Pete a tease of his black boxers underneath. Pete wanted nothing more than to pull them off with his teeth.

Roger struggled with sliding those tight jeans down his hips and thighs, but eventually they dropped down and he stepped out of them, only slightly losing his balance on the soft mattress. He hooked a thumb in the waistband of his boxers, teasing Pete with a view of a patch of light hair and the V shape of his hips leading down to the one thing Pete wanted the most.

Pete’s own cock was straining so uncomfortably against his jeans, and if he didn’t get any relief he’d surely burst right out. His own skin crawled with sweat as his mind reverted back to primal sexual instincts. He couldn’t possibly sit still any longer, his fingers itched to touch Roger. He crawled across the mattress to kneel in front of Roger, looking up at him with yearning. Pete carefully reached out to touch his muscular thigh, then leaned in to kiss it gently.

Roger placed a hand on the back of Pete’s head, and Pete moved to place a kiss on Roger’s bulge, which made him sigh. Pete held his hips firmly and bit down on the worn elastic waistband of his boxers and pulled down with his teeth, but Roger stopped him with a teasing smile. 

“Ah, not so fast,” Roger smiled down at him, placing a commanding hand on his chest and pushing him back. “Hands off.”

Pete swallowed quickly, back to being the submissive observer. He took his hands away reluctantly, leaning back. Now Roger knelt down, and crawled over Pete. He rolled his hips, grinding against Pete’s own arousal. Roger’s lips brushed teasingly against Pete’s neck and cheek, but never gratifying him with a kiss. He smelled of liquor and tangy sweat. Pete shivered with every purposeful brush and he tossed his head back in frustration when he felt Roger’s cock against him. Even in those tiny boxers, there was still too much clothing between them.

“Rog…” Pete whispered breathlessly. He felt that aching want in every fibre of his body.

Roger straddled him now, rocking his hips against Pete’s with a rhythm now. The friction was turning Pete’s brain into tv static. “What? You want more?”

Pete couldn’t form a coherent sentence, and just nodded enthusiastically, struggling to keep his hands to himself but failing. He slid his hands up the back of Roger’s thighs and over his arse, perfectly small and round. Roger shuddered, pressing himself closer.

“You’re not much of a stripper, are you?” Pete managed to find some snarky wit in him. He tugged at Roger’s boxers. “You still have clothes on.”

Roger pulled away, peeling himself from Pete and standing up again. The beautiful god of a man, effortlessly gorgeous, stood in front of him and shimmied out of those small black shorts, revealing his swollen cock.

Pete knelt in front of him again, properly begging again. “Please, Roger, let me touch you…”

“Tell me you want it,” Roger slowly took his cock in his hands and stroked himself slowly. 

Pete palmed himself over his jeans. He loved earning his sex, but this was damn agonizing. “Roger, I want to taste your cock so badly, I can’t wait any longer.”

Roger stepped closer, bringing his cock to Pete’s face. He lifted his chin, brushing the tip of his cock against Pete’s lips. “Go on, then.”

Pete swallowed quickly. Oh god, yes, thank you for finally allowing this. He held Roger’s thighs, keeping them both steady. He wrapped his lips around the head of Roger’s cock, his tongue swirling around the sensitive tip, already tasting the tangy precome.

There was a violent knock on the door just then, and Roger drew away quickly. “Who is it?”

"Fuck, there you are," he called from behind the door. “It’s John, Kit sent us a cab, we have to go.”

“Uh, just a minute,” Pete called as he and Roger scrambled to get decent again. They were both still achingly hard.

“Hey,” Roger was still stumbling a bit. “Come back to mine and we’ll finish this properly, eh?”

Pete grinned, taking Roger’s hand and pulling him out the door. “Well, hurry up then…”


End file.
